I Always Got Good Intentions (closed)

A scraggly weed brushed at Jaculus' pelt as he picked his way over the soggy ground, his skin twitching irritably. Days of walking over rocky foothills and endless fields, sleeping in human barns and temporary shelters in the depths of bushes, and finally here was something different. That strange cave with its unbearably bright glowing rock had proven to be a bust — despite all the stale scent of cats coating it, there'd been no trace of anyone left.

It seemed they'd all moved to the swamp instead.

His ear twitched at an echoing bird call ringing through the wisps of mist and the moss dripping off hunched, gnarled trees, one foot slipping briefly into a deeper puddle. It's not all unappealing.... Despite the wet. Casually flicking mucky droplets off his paw, he ducked beneath long trailing grass strands, the fresh scent of other cats teasing at his tongue. The dark and gloomy depths seemed to call to him, the dark stripes of his pelt blending in, his frame prowling low to hide the paler colours of his fur. Not that it stood out much, spattered with mud and dirt as it was.

He kept to the more solid ground with its tufted, springy grass-moss, the cool, moist air brushing at his whiskers. No, not all unpleasant. He'd been in worse places. Despite the wild stories swirling around the outskirts, and the warnings given by old, fat human-owned cats, he had a feeling that those here would be softer than the tale-tellers gave them credit. Those old geezers had looked at him — or more accurately, the pair of sharpened wolf-dog teeth in his ear — strangely, suspicious that he was related to these "ferocious wild-cats", after all.

If only he could meet one to find out how accurate the comparison was....

Oh, there was one. Potentially, unless another wanderer like him was out and about. He straightened, chartreuse eyes raking over the long pelt patched with light and dark, sturdy and well-built muscles hinted at beneath all the fur as the stranger came to a stop in front of him. Idly, he wondered how the tom managed with the mud. It could explain the unfriendliness.

He ignored the short bluntness of the words, regarding the other with one ear at a relaxed tilt. "If you mean that as in 'this is no place for cat-kind', then I would agree."

"A Clan." His eyes lit with curiosity at that, head tipping slightly. "What exactly... is a Clan?"

The shadows and swirls of the mist curling over the marshes shifted in the chartreuse of his gaze, dark intrigue layered with an innocent naivety tilting in the angle of his ears, and softly clicking together the stained and sharpened teeth in his right. This cat evidently knew the mysterious phantoms that haunted this land, the scent clinging at the edges of the dingy forest wafting from his coat.

"I used to be part of a group," he said, softening the curve of his spine into a light slouch, head low. A hint of a smile played at the edges of his maw, teasing in the corners of his eyes. "Do they let others in...? I've been wandering for a long time — it would be nice to have company for a few days."